The Big Ugly Blog is an honest and uncensored collection of anecdotes recounting the madcap shenanigans of a perpetually 39 year old divorcee, as she wades through the mire of the murky online dating pool - ravenously searching (evidently in vain) for the man of her dreams...Keep On Dreaming, Baby!


Monday, February 23, 2009

A Watched Pot Never Boils

I'm finding it difficult to put any semblance of a positive spin on my recent, social life stalemate. For that matter, daily life in general these days, really just kinda blows. I am uninspired and alone (my kids have been with their dad for the last few days which I have to say - always compounds my loneliness...*sigh*) I'm basically unemployed and therefore - cataclysmically broke. So to you, my few devoted readers, I offer up my sincerest apologies for not only moving at the speed of chilled molasses to get this entry published but also - for only managing to schlock together the most measly, pathetic, puny, weak, whiney, bland, limp and boring entry (with a light smattering of "truly disgusting" thrown in for good measure) - to date. If you ask me, this would be the perfect opportunity for you guys to bypass this shit altogether and go deep into the recesses of the Big Ugly vault and pull up a few older, grittier, livelier entries...sound good? I say go for that!

Alas, for my own benefit...on I plod...

For the past few tedious weeks, I have been galumphing along on all of my dating sites as the last remnants of hope of ever unearthing anything remotely worthy of transcribing here, are all but vanquished...i.e.; I am now nearly convinced that I may have fully shot my internet dating wad, and that I might never again find myself out on one of my patent, ridiculously twisted, online-generated dates - the byproducts of which I count on to provide the fodder for this running monologue. I think my days (and nights) on the prowl - here in front of my trusty, ole Mac - may be numbered. There is literally NOTHING going on, no matter how hard I try to incite action. Even the paltry, few near-misses that I can tally, barely warrant me wasting your time or even my own - for that matter...and yet - in the self-indulgent interest of keeping my fingers loose and my mind from totally congealing, I'll continue on with this vapid pablum...

Let me break it down for you like this: I cannot even recollect the last time that I flashed my tits to some guy on the webcam or sent a tawdry text or received an X-rated email (snore)...I haven't had actual sex in nearly 3 months (yawn)...I haven't been on a date in over 3 weeks (humph!) and up until just a little bit ago, I hadn't even diddled myself in 3 whole days (I know! ME!!!) and even then, I practically had to force myself to do it...if for nothing else then to simply sweep out the cobwebs, for godssakes. I was glad I did it though, because it definitely took the edge off of a hangover that simply wouldn't quit (magical thing, that "Big O"'ll cure what ails ya'!) Anyway, it's crystal clear to me, that I am teetering on the brink of admitting total defeat here and that I am poised to possibly throw in the virtual dating towel, for good. Naturally though, I can't help but wonder why things have come to such a screeching standstill. It has occurred to me that I may have become this used up, worn out, old face - that every guy online has seen a million times during the last 11 months - and in the process, I have (ironically) essentially become invisible to them. Or maybe my horrendous treatment of the huge percentage of guys that I've met and promptly dismissed, has sicked (sicced?) karma on my ass. I've tried to console myself by blaming the disquieting hush on epidemic, financial hardships. Perhaps folks (myself included) are growing too poor to prioritize boozin' it up at a bar all night long with some "virtual" stranger or gambling (and most likely losing) on finding love over an exorbitantly priced meal, when they should be saving their pennies for gasoline and groceries. Maybe it's that everyone is still in a lazy, hazy state of hibernation...Although after the unseasonably warm, last few days, it seems very unlikely that many peeps could have tuned out the ubiquitous mating calls of early Spring, and avoided stirring from their wintertime slumbers. I ran all of my gripes and theories past Better Jimmy and Juanny Baby the other day, and both guys admitted that things have been equally as dismal for them recently. And let me tell ya', those guys are far more hot and eligible than I'll ever hope to be. So......maybe it's not just me! And believe me, that notion definitely makes me feel a little better, but it still does nothing to solve the dilemma of "What the hell am I supposed to write about in my Big Ugly Blog?" for chrissakes!

Here, I'll give you what I've got: (You ready? Better brace yourselves...this is all VERY exciting stuff, right here!!!)

-My older brother "friend requested" me on Facebook, the other night and I accepted. Now, this might not seem like that big of a deal, but after the Thanksgiving night fiasco at my parents' house, I counted on never hearing from him again. So, this is good news for sure, but nonetheless - far from compelling journalism.

-A bunch of "tweeners" (Jordan's 11 - 13 year old friends from school) attempted to "friend" me on Facebook, as well (mmmm....nope...don't think so)

Ummm...what else, hmmm...

- Ok, there's this - I might be getting desperate enough to ask my mechanic out. Daryl is a wee bit...not country really or redneck exactly...more like a hunter meets a Nascar guy or something like that (nice, tight little body though) He's got a great face, bright blue eyes, short-clipped salt-n-pepper grey hair, naturally tanned skin, a really pretty smile surrounding a perfect set of straight, white teeth all perched atop a barely dimpled chin and chiseled jaw. And Daryl has started flirting with me, too (even though rumor has it that he's married) The other day, he blocked traffic from moving at all when he stopped his big truck smack dab in the middle of the bustling parking lot at Sheetz, just so he could talk to me while I pumped my gas. So, there is always that.

-My 9 year old son Jamie took a crap last week (created a monster in his lavatory) which looked exactly like a hand giving the "peace sign" (an abnormally L A R G E hand - mind you - but it had this teensy, little "thumb"...hee hee) He called me into the bathroom to marvel at it with him...ya' gotta love those tender moments that a mother and son the can. (I realize that this snippet may be a little much for some of you out there to handle, but hey! What do you think the content warning in the beginning of this goddamned blog is for? My ass is so covered!

Nevertheless, you may be wondering if there a point to this story. And the answer is: no...not really. It is nothing more than the sad byproduct of acute boredom and the realization that my over-the-top and immature obsession with potty talk and off-color humor has evidently fostered in my young son, his own fascination with the perverse. Way to raise 'em up right, huh? Ok, so even though Jamie's masterpiece was maybe not as remarkable as finding say...the Virgin Mary in a potato chip, it was the best that the little guy could doo,, and I appreciated that he was proud enough to share his triumph with his dear, old Mother.

There......we got the raunchy portion of this entry outta the way. And I mean like - who needs gratuitous sex when poop is always entertaining...

- In other news: I bounced a few checks (fuck), did not win the lottery (fuck), I stopped myself numerous times from contacting Jimmy and Mark (I told you, I'm getting pretty desperate) Mr. Dreamy shafted me again...And yes, his excuse was legit, but I know better than to kid myself that anything will ever happen between us. I'm just happy that he talks to me at all even if it is mostly only ever to confabulate over our mutual love of music...nothing wrong with that, right? I'll take whatever I can get. I've turned him on to a couple of bands that he's wound up really digging and that's been his primary motivation to contact me, either to rave about the good music I've sent his way, or to learn about more. Anyway, for our last unrealized date we planned (on a Friday) to spend the following Monday, snowboarding together. I knew better than to let myself get too excited about it, and even when Monday morning rolled around and I hadn't heard from him all weekend long, I resisted contacting him. The Sunday night before our "date", the town where Mr. Dreamy lives, got 6" of snow dumped on them during the only snowstorm of the whole winter (my own little town got practically nothing...figures) and so I pictured a lovely layer of fresh snow at the ski resort which would've made for an excellent day on the slopes, but when Mr. Dreamy finally IM'd me at nearly 11 a.m., he announced, unapologetically, that he was stuck at home with his kids for a school snow day...

- Oh, here's one for ya'! My cute, little pixie friend Beth and I went out a couple of weekends ago, to a nearby bar, for lack of anything better to do that night. We entered the upstairs bar, which was way too brightly lit (overhead lighting is so oppressive) and with only a few tables occupied by nervous-looking, middle-aged couples (in some cases, I seriously could not tell which one was the husband and which was the wife, most of them looked exactly alike, gender was nearly was eerie) It didn't take Beth or me very long to figure out that most of them were waiting for their turns up at the Karaoke mic., while a 40-something, reasonably attractive, blond woman performed her lifeless rendition of a song that sounded like it could've been by the Carpenters, or Dionne Warwick, or...I really don't know...songs like that just don't register in my noggin'. Well, as I'm sure you can imagine, as soon as we had settled into the notion of partaking in Karaoke Night, my cute, little pixie friend was perusing the gigantic catalogs of songs just ripe for the picking! Unfortunately, her taste in music wasn't much better than the other participants'. Nonetheless - after much debate - Beth and I finally agreed to a duo...ABBA's "Dancing Queen".

After suffering through a string of consistently lackluster performances, it was finally our turn. Now, it wasn't that the people before us were bad singers, some of them were actually quite good. It's just that they were so flipping god! Like zero stage-presence. My thing is this - I'm not the best singer in the world - not by a long shot - but I am a decent performer, ya' dig? I could tell right away, that Beth was gonna be in rare form for our duet, (she is a complete maniac by nature, I mean like calamity and chaos just seem to follow her around, I LOVE it!) so I was prepared for her to put on quite a show! All right, so we got up to our mics. and did the whole, "Check, check" thing, the music started and I was horror-stricken at the high pitch in which our chosen song is sung! I could do very little with it for the first few bars, which was actually fine because Beth almost immediately had me laughing so hard, that I was doubled over and tears were welling in my squinting eyes, I think I even drooled a little. She was singing in this faux operatic voice, it was absolutely bizarre and all wrong, and SO not what the audience had been expecting. I'll put it to ya' this way...anyone who had not been paying attention, now definitely WAS! I managed to collect myself so I wouldn't totally miss out on my chance to dance and sing along with my good buddy, and we had absolutely the most fun, just being retarded really. I had called another good friend (who had wimped out on coming with us, the beotch) and set my cell on a nearby table so that she could at least hear us make complete asses of ourselves, and at the end of our song I hollered, "I wanna give a shout out to my girl, Willow!" and my cute, little pixie friend Beth followed up with, "YEAH! SCREW YOU, WILLOW!!!" I saw a few very proper jaws in the audience land firmly on the tables, simultaneous to most of the members of this convention of goofy goody goodies, fidgeting nervously before remembering to offer obligatory (though in their eyes apparently, undue) applause. I guess they all hadn't hated us though, cuz one highly esteemed Karaoke performer (she had a fan club of followers...ew?) approached Beth and me as we basked in our humiliation at the bar and rather convincingly, this woman blabbed on and on and on...about what great singers we were...(Wait a second...that dork wasn't fuckin' with us...was she?)

And there you have it, folks...All the news you wish you'd never had to read!

All right, so I implemented my tried and true trick of changing things up by posting a new profile pic. on a few of my favorite dating sites. This new one is more of a body shot than a face shot, in fact you can't really see my face at all. It's a side view of me in tall rubber boots, and short shorts, bending over and washing my cute, little car. But the photo is really more of my adorable car than of me, which I thought might appeal to the motorheads out there who have an appreciation for the righteousness of a 1972 Datsun 240Z. And as predicted, I did get a new wave of attention, but within 36 hours of posting the new pic., things were once again...silent. All I can think is that guys were stoked for a minute, to see what they thought was fresh meat, but once they dug around my profile a bit, and discovered nothing but the same crusty, old ME, they musta been like, "Oh...Hell's's just that ole washed up twat, again" I swear to god, I might just post that picture of Jamie's "peace sign" crap as my profile photo...Obviously I haven't got a goddamned thing to lose…

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